


The Tale of Harriet 'Harry' Watson

by S_G_M



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alcoholism, Anxiety, Bisexual Harry, Bisexuality, Death, Delinqency, Depression, Drugs, F/M, Fresh Start, Heterosexual Sex, Homelessness, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Sex, Siblings, Starting Over, Suicidal Tendencies, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempts, Tension, Trauma, bipolar, life story, tradgedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_G_M/pseuds/S_G_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Watson's past is filled with pain, trauma, addiction, mental health problems, and familial tension.  </p><p>Ten years after abruptly leaving her family behind as she works on rebuilding her life, Harry decides that it's time to find her brother and try to repair the damage that's been done to their sibling relationship.  She knows that it's beyond hope that she could ever be her parents' daughter again, but maybe Harry can somehow get her brother back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Life had never been easy for Harriet Melissa Watson, or 'Harry' for short.

Though she had more often than not done her very best to be the girl that everyone seemed to expect her to be, she had fallen painfully short.  
As an infant and toddler, Harry had been fussy; her mother had found her patience to be less with her second child than her first.

Throughout her childhood, Harry continued to be a difficult girl.

She'd had her first encounter with the police at the tender age of eight years old, after stuffing a cute little teddy bear into her backpack. She had learnt to become more careful after that, learning better and more covert ways to thieve.

Harry had been diagnosed with depression and anxiety by the age of eleven, with a diagnosis of bi-polar coming nearly a year afterward.  
She had often refused to take her medication from the beginning, which frustrated her parents further.  
While she wasn't overly keen on taking pills that she didn't feel that were truly needed, Harry had a secret reason for avoiding their consumption; the girl had a drinking problem.

Harry had begun sneaking the odd bit of liqour from the special cabinet in the basement rumpus room around her twelfth birthday.  
The locking mechanism on the cabinet had been a simple one, and the unlocking and relocking of the it had proven incredibly easy.

While the contents of those pretty bottles had tasted nothing but vile, at least at the beginning, Harry adored how it had made her felt; her sadness, her anger and frustration, all of the negativity would fade away for a little while.

Since that point, Harry had found herself needing more than the small amount she'd begun with. Found herself craving it more often.

It was within six months that Harry began imbibing semi-nightly, and after a few more weeks that she needed a drink every night.  
She'd always been immensely careful not to be obvious about pilfering from the cabinet, and unless the family had been away, Harry made it a rule to have her portion strictly late at night when the risk of getting caught was lower.

And, since her parents went through liqour quickly enough with the 'social gatherings' they held rather frequently with the friends and neighbours, it had very rarely been noticed that anything had gone missing.

Any time that her mother or father had been sure that there had been more whiskey, rum, or whatever spirit, they had shrugged it off thinking that they must have been mistaken.

It was only after her first DUI at nineteen that the truth had made itself known, when her parents had kicked her out of the house and practically written her off.

 

John, while the siblings were entirely different in attitude, habits and personality, had always tried to be a good big brother to his troubled little sister.

Even when the family had been completely horrified at Harry's dating another girl, John remained supportive.

Not that Harry had appreciated any of his efforts at the time, pushing him away.  
He was a goody-two-shoes, a boring little who only cared about becoming a soldier one day. A dull rule follower with no sense of real adventure.

Harry craved anything that made her feel alive; her mental disorders made her miserable, and so she chased after whatever would help keep her mind away from thinking about it. And, her indulgent, self-destructive behaviour did just that.

 

Harry didn't see herself growing old. She saw no future for herself, and had come close to committing suicide more than a few times over her short life.

She had no supports, not one person to reach out to when she needed help. Or, at least Harry felt that way.  
Harry had learnt early on to internalise it all, to compress and ignore it until it went away as much as it would.  
From childhood she had been dubbed the 'black sheep' of the family. So, she had slowly given up on trying to be who her parents had hoped she would somehow transform into.

Harry had ended up taking to heart the words that her parents would tell her when things were difficult; that she was nothing but trouble, a failure, a basket case, an idiot.  
That she would never amount to anything if she was going to keep it up, that her depression was merely 'laziness'. They would insist that Harry take care of herself when she couldn't even manage to get out of bed because of the crippling depression wracking her entire body. They would tell her not to 'freak out' when she had a panic attack.

Her parents didn't understand, or refused to.

Beyond this, the blinding fact that John was and always had been the favoured child certainly didn't help matters; they had oftentimes neglected her in many ways.

By the time that Harry had been told to get out of the family home, she was a full-blown alcoholic, dabbling in various drugs, broke, and more hopeless than she'd ever been.

She'd planned on crashing her old beater and ending it once and for all. What did she have to live for?

Harry had eaten a last meal of a partial piece of stale, cold fried chicken and a half-dried out chocolate doughnut, downed as much of a full bottle of vodka as she could manage without vomiting, and got behind the wheel; this wasn't a thing that she wanted to do sober.

In fact, Harry didn't know if she could manage it without being either high or drunk. While living was too hard, the notion of death was one that frightened her. She felt in her heart that she would go to hell, not to mention that the process of dying didn't seem altogether pleasant. Dulling sensation was the only way to go.

She had noticed the flashing police lights in her rearview mirror only minutes into the drive.  
Harry swore. The cop must have noticed that blasted left rear tail light was out. She'd meant to get that fixed months ago, but never had gotten around to it.

Harry wanted to die, she didn't want to hurt anyone other than herself. She didn't feel confident that she could speed and not hit someone if she wanted to make a getaway and make it to the spot that she had chosen as her deathbed.

So, she pulled over. And, that was when she was promptly charged with drunk driving and arrested for the act.

 

Harry had served some time in gaol, her first-offence sentence somewhat lenient.  
When she had gotten out, she had no idea what to do.  
Her parents hadn't uttered so much as a syllable to her, though John had visited a few times and let her know when most of her things had been thrown away.  
He'd had his own place by this time, and was doing well in his medical training which he'd begun that Spring.  
John had taken what he could back to his tiny flat, though he couldn't take it all.  
Harry had been touched that he'd cared enough to make such a kind gesture.  
After all of the years of her abuse, John still considered her family. Still loved her.  
Of course, she had nowhere to put her things. Harry had thanked him, but told him that he ought to just throw it away since she had nowhere to store it.  
John would have invited her to stay, but he'd already proposed the idea to his landlord and it hadn't gone over well.  
"Here." He'd told her, stuffing a small wad of notes into her hand. "It's not too much, but you should be able to find a place for a month or so."  
He licked his lower lip, hoping that she would stay clean and get onto her feet. "You'll be all right. Just find a job, get to know some decent people, and stay away from the drugs and booze. I know you can do this, Harry. I've got faith in you."  
Harry swallowed, feeling tears well up.  
John had been the only person in the entire family who would call her Harry, and the only one who had ever been honestly supportive.  
She wasn't so confident that she could manage and it showed.  
John leaned in and embraced her; he couldn't understand why she was the way that she was, but accepted her regardless. She was his sister and he would never give up on her.  
Not now, not ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had served some time in gaol, her first-offense sentence somewhat lenient.

When she had gotten out, she had no idea what to do.

Her parents hadn't uttered so much as a syllable to her, though John had visited a few times and let her know when most of her things had been thrown away.

He'd had his own place by this time, and was doing well in his medical training which he'd begun that Spring.  
John had taken what he could back to his tiny flat, though he couldn't take it all.

Harry had been touched that he'd cared enough to make such a kind gesture.

After all of the years of her abuse, John still considered her family. Still loved her.  
Of course, she had nowhere to put her things. Harry had thanked him, but told him that he ought to just throw it away since she had nowhere to store it.  
John would have invited her to stay, but he'd already proposed the idea to his landlord and it hadn't gone over well.

"Here." He'd told her, stuffing a small wad of notes into her hand. "It's not too much, but you should be able to find a place for a month or so."  
He licked his lower lip, hoping that she would stay clean and get onto her feet. "You'll be all right. Just find a job, get to know some decent people, and stay away from the drugs and booze. I know you can do this, Harry. I've got faith in you." 

Harry swallowed, feeling tears well up.

John had been the only person in the entire family who would call her Harry, and the only one who had ever been honestly supportive.  
She wasn't so confident that she could manage and it showed.

John leaned in and embraced her; he couldn't understand why she was the way that she was, but accepted her regardless. She was his sister and he would never give up on her. 

Not now, not ever.

 

Harry had made a valiant effort to stay clean, and had found herself a flat and a job.

She had stopped spending money frivolously and had even made a small savings for the future.

For the first time, her life began to truly improve for the best and she'd felt as though maybe she could get by. That things would only get better from that point.   
Harry was now able to smile and laugh, to actually walk straight past the bars and liquor stores, and was beginning to like who she was becoming; a stronger, smarter, friendlier and increasingly sober woman. 

Her confidence had begun to rise, and her personality had become notably more improved.  
Her parents had even been allowing her to come to dinner on Sunday nights, and were learning that Harry had told them the truth and was doing well.

Then she had met Mark.

Mark had seemed to be a wonderful man from the first time they'd met at the hardware shop that she was working at.

They had chatted about bolts the first visit, with Mark enthusiastically going into detail about the project he was working on.  
He had come back a couple of days later, this time for nails. Innuendo, subtle at first, had ensued.

Harry had enjoyed it immensely, and had been compelled to write her number down for him.

After he had left, Harry had found her thoughts straying back to him over her day, hoping that he would call.

A few days went by, and Mark hadn't called nor come back to the shop.

Harry had felt disappointed and a tad discouraged.

But, on the sixth day, Mark had rung her and they had gone out that evening.

It had been a magnificent night, with lots of music and laughter. Harry was falling for him in the worst way, and had given herself to him more than willingly in her dingy little flat in Peckham.

The next morning, he was still there and had even made breakfast.

Harry was incredibly happy, feeling that Mark could be the one. He was nothing like the men and women she had gone with before, he was different. And, while she hated that it was so cliche, Harry was certain that it was true.

Harry and Mark had been completely monogamous from the start, which to her was a promising sign.

Once in a while, Mark would buy a decent bottle of wine and Harry would have a small portion because she felt confident that she wouldn't fall off the wagon.

Over time, the occasional wine had turned out not to be a problem at all. Harry had practiced her self-control beautifully and had impressed herself.   
She was entirely in love with Mark now, and she had never been in love before. She never wanted it to end.

Each date had been even better than the last, even when they did practically nothing at all.

 

Everything was going swimmingly; her romantic, work, and family lives were all fantastic.

Her life finally felt worth living, and she was happy to wake up each morning to see the beautiful light of a fresh, new day.  
It was amazing; Harry felt as though she was capable of accomplishing anything she set her mind to.

It wasn't long before Harry and Mark had moved in together, finding a slightly shabby second floor flat in another part of London.  
They'd gone shopping together for furniture, dishes, and the basic things anyone would need for a home.

The flat Mark had stayed in had been fully furnished and he had nothing of his own save for soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. He didn't even have a comb.  
And, Harry only had the very basics; a few changes of clothes, hygiene necessities, some cleanser, and a few personal feminine items.  
They'd needed to buy a lot, though they could afford it.

She was so very happy, and Mark had inspired much of that contentment.

Harry was thankful for the day that he had chosen to walk in and buy hardware that lovely afternoon.

He had changed her life for the better, and had brought out a side that she hadn't even known existed.

Being in love was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

After they were back at their new home and most things had been delivered and set up, Mark had a surprise; a small bag of cocaine.

"I know you told me that you're straight-edge now, but I wanted to celebrate." He explained as he brandished it, wondering if he'd just made a big mistake. Harry didn't seem altogether pleased. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, babe." He added cautiously, shoving his hands in his back pockets.

Mark wondered if this would spark a fight, even break them up. 

He let out a breath. He really could be so stupid at times, why didn't he just think before doing these things?

Harry had been aware that Mark would partake from time to time, though it had never been around her before. Since he had fully reassured her that he was responsible about it and could stop at any time he pleased, Harry had let it slide. He wouldn't lie to her, after all.

She stared at the white powder, feeling that disgusting craving creep up on her.

She detested it. But, at the same time, Harry wondered if maybe just one last time would be all right. 

Harry was equally torn between sharing the bag with him, and yelling at Mark for bringing it home before leaving the flat in a huff.

"Only this once." She decided aloud, her voice slow and not completely sure. 

Mark grinned widely, reaching out and giving her a pat on her shoulder.  
"That's my girl!" He said lovingly, opening the bag and beginning to make lines on the kitchen counter top.

Harry watched him closely, the sight strangely turning her on.

She licked her lips and stepped closer, not understanding why this was so hot.

Mark looked up and over to her, a sexy little smile playing on his lips.

The distance between them closed swiftly, as their mouths clashed passionately and their hands wandered along what could be reached of one another's body.

Harry was breathless as her mind went blissfully blank, while the situation escalated feverishly.

Between deep kisses, they each did a line, enhancing the experience.

As Harry felt that delicious rush begin to high-jack her entire body, Mark lifted her onto the counter top across from the one with their stash.

He lifted her short floral skirt up, pleased to find that there were no knickers to serve as a barrier to her nether regions.

Mark leaned in, kissing just above her slightly fuzzy pubic area.

Harry let out the softest of moans, her legs spreading of their own volition, inviting Mark to do as he would.

Mark made a noise in the back of his throat.

The sight of her needing him like this, wanting everything he could give, it was glorious.

He let his hands play along the pale, sensitive skin of her inner thighs, purposely avoiding the hot spot directly in front of his face as he leaned in.  
Harry began wiggling, trying to encourage him to get down to business.

He let out a low rumble of a laugh, delighted with her impatience.

She felt his breath against her and shivered in anticipation.

Mark gave a teasingly slow lick from her perineum to just below her clitoris, making Harry squirm.

After a moment or two, he swirled his tongue deliberately around the erect nub, being ever so careful not to make contact.

"Shit!" Harry grunted in annoyance, the fire of lust scorching her awfully.

Mark leisurely toyed with her again, and Harry frowned deeply as it became unbearable.

"Enough." She told him in a low growl, reaching over and roughly gripping his short dark hair and guiding his mouth to just the right spot. 

Mark was achingly hard, and wanted nothing more than to take her rough and fast right there. No, strike that; on the floor in the den, right there in front of the window that still needed curtains. 

The thought that someone might see them was one that excited him further.

His tongue found the sweet spot, and he began skilfully flicking it, making her moan in pleasure.

Mark gave a gentle suck, sending a sudden jolt of electricity shooting through her.

"Ah!" She choked out, her head tipping back as he gave a tender nip.

Mark let his tongue slip lower, working his magic at her slick entrance.

Her juices were dripping down onto the counter top, a sign that he was doing a good job.

She tasted of sweet durian fruit; a pungent flavour that made him want so much more of it.  
He pushed his tongue inside of her and she bit her lip.

She ached for his cock, to be filled with him.

Harry looked down to his crotch, where his trousers were tented with his stiff erection.

Mark got the hint, and swiftly disrobed his lower half.

Harry stared at the thick, veiny appendage lustfully.

Mark was easily the best lay that she had ever had; he had great equipment and knew exactly what he was doing, plus he was attentive to her needs while being unashamed of expressing his own.

He swooped her off the counter top, leaning down to kiss her soft lips as she wrapped her legs around his firm torso. Harry felt the length of his ridgedness pressing against her, and her craving for him heightened significantly.

He began heading into the den, prepared to carry out the fantasy that had popped into his head shortly before.  
Harry ended the kiss when she realised what he was doing.

"Hey, we haven't put the curtains up yet, dummy." She reminded him teasingly, Mark nipping at her left earlobe.

"I know." He replied, waggling his eyebrows and making her laugh.

Harry was intrigued by the idea, and feeling adventurous, she agreed.

Of course, that she was burning for him and couldn't wait much longer had also been a deciding factor. Mark might've suggested that they go make love in a phone booth and Harry could have very well consented.

He had a way of making her want to cave in to him in the worst way.

 

Mark silently cheered, making it the rest of the way to the den as she planted tender kisses on his neck.

He lay her carefully down on the grey carpet, and then knelt down between her open legs and took in the sight of Harry looking up at him lovingly.  
There was downright longing in her sparkling blue-grey eyes.

After mentally storing the image for later use, he positioned himself over her and pressed inside her hot tightness.

Harry licked her bottom lip, savouring the feeling of Mark entering her, filling that throbbing emptiness meant for only him.  
"Mmm..." She let out softly, closing her eyes and focusing on only this sensation.

Mark sank himself in to the hilt, before leisurely pulling most of the way out.

He began giving slow, measured thrusts, wanting this to last as long as possible.

As much as they both craved release, this time was something special and he didn't think they ought to rush it.  
Harry had other ideas, not needing this to be romantic.

Romance was fine and dandy, but she needed real action.

"Is that all you've got?" She huskily challenged him with a raised brow, her tone playful.

Mark kissed her words away, gradually quickening his pace.

Before long, though not half as soon as Harry would have liked, he was pounding her forcefully at mach speed.  
Her cries filled the air, echoing off the walls as he went on relentlessly.

The sound of their skin snapping together rhythmically was almost hypnotic. Harry savoured the gentle stinging, her body beginning to tense up in that perfect way.  
She was so close.

"Don't stop, baby." She encouraged him, panting as he knocked the breath out of her with each thrust. "Like that... Uh huh, oh! OHHH! ... Just, mmm... A little f-faster! Please, Mark, FASTER!" 

Mark did his best to oblige, knowing that he was nearly spent. He bit back a certain Star Trek reference involving Scotty, since Harry wouldn't appreciate it, though just barely.

Harry reached down to her clit and she began furiously rubbing in circular motions, her brows knitting together in concentration.

Moments later she came powerfully, her body spasming as a crescendo of magnificent fireworks exploded inside of her. 

Harry's satisfied moans combined with her orgasmic contractions squeezing his cock were what tipped Mark over the edge and he burst inside of her, biting his lip hard as he shut his eyes tightly and let out a string of half-muffled curse words. The sensations were so potent that his eyes nearly rolled back into his skull in pleasure. 

When he could manage to move again, he lay down beside Harry and held her in his arms.

Harry smiled contentedly as she drifted into slumber, feeling as though life couldn't possibly have gotten any better.

 

She awoke hours later, the sun having gone down and the flat quite dark.

The only illumination came from a street light across the way.

Harry felt cold and uncomfortable, and she could swear that she had rug burn.

It had been totally worth it, of course.

She jostled Mark's arm. He didn't stir.

"Come on, let's go to bed." She encouraged him groggily, knowing how heavy a sleeper he could be. "Wake up."

Harry rubbed her eyes.

"Mark!" She tried a little more loudly, giving him a gentle punch to the arm.  
Something didn't feel right.

Harry felt her anxiety levels spike, and she swallowed hard as her mind and pulse began to race.  
"Mark?" She asked a touch shakily, noting the odd tint to his pallor.

She felt a stab of dread flood her as she touched him; he was cold.

Harry couldn't see Mark's chest rise and fall with respiration. 

Harry did her best to remember the first aid training she'd taken at summer camp when she was fourteen, launching into CPR.

Tears stung her eyes as panic controlled her.

Suddenly realising that she should call for help, she shakily dialed 999 on the landline and reported the situation.

Once she knew help was on the way, despite being told to stay on the line, Harry set the phone down and went back to performing CPR.

She kept trying and trying, desperation clawing at her brain as she knew that it was unlikely to work. Harry was determined to revive him. She couldn't let him die like this.  
They were supposed to get married, have a family, grow old together... This couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it.

Once the medics had arrived, Mark had been pronounced dead on the scene and Harry had collapsed on the floor in a puddle of misery.


	3. Chapter 3

After that, Harry had gone back to drinking and drugs, had lost her job and the flat, and had ended up on the streets.

She hadn't told her family a thing, simply sending them a vague letter that she was going away and didn't know when she would be returning.

It was a hard life, and each day felt tougher than the last.  
Harry was told countless times to get a job by cruel people who had no understanding of her situation, was cursed at and spat upon, had things thrown at her, been kicked at, threatened... Awful things that nobody should ever experience.

Being homeless wasn't something she'd ever get used to.

Harry had tried to get off the streets, tried to get a job and a home, tried everything.

Merely getting into a shelter proved difficult, with the sheer number of people desperate to get in.

It was hell. That's what it was.

And, the few people who even saw her as a human being with feelings seemed to try and ignore her. They would avert their eyes and try to pretend that they hadn't noticed her.

They didn't want to have to see her, to feel bad for her; what they refused to acknowledge couldn't hurt them.

Harry and the many others like her were treated as vermin, if they were even seen by society at all. They were the invisible scum of the earth. Someone to take frustrations out on, to blame problems on.

Sometimes, the people that Harry had gotten to know on the streets would simply go missing.

It was no secret that there were those who would torture or murder the homeless, and when someone disappeared and didn't come back, it was safe to assume the worst.  
It happened too often.

 

Harry had learnt the ways of the streets before long, and while it was a cold and bitter sort of life, a day to day existence that left you feeling hollow, she somehow managed to survive.

She had never expected to ever wind up this way, but then again, who did?

A missed paycheck, a lost job, even divorce, and you could end up on skid row. Not that the people who had the luxury of a house and a steady income believed that; most of them seemed adamant that if you were on the streets, then it was all your fault and you deserved what you got.  
A few days had turned into a few weeks, and a few months into years.

Harry eventually forgot what it was like to even sleep in a soft, warm bed.

Simple comforts that most people took for granted would have been enough to overwhelm Harry.

It was a treat to even be able to use an inside toilet and be able to wipe after doing her business.

Such a life was abject misery with little hope of a way to regain what once was; cold nights, little food and/or water, few places to get clean, less and less places to spend the night as the city put up more 'deterrents' to keep people like Harry at bay.

How she had managed to survive as long as she had like this was beyond her, but Harry believed that there must be a reason that she was alive. She had to believe it. It was one of the very few things she had left.

 

Harry had spent a bleak decade being homeless, before a stranger had sparked something inside of her.

Sitting on the concrete in Piccadilly Circus on a warm Spring day, a handsome woman only a few years older than Harry had passed by on the way to run errands.

She had come back ten minutes later with a cup of coffee and a brown paper bag containing a sandwich, salad, and chips.

Harry hadn't been shown such a display of kindness in a long time, and when the stranger sat down next to her on the ground in that expensive outfit, Harry began to cry.

"Thank you." She told the lady, sniffing. The gesture warmed her heart and gave her another shred of faith in humanity.

People rarely seemed to see her, let alone tried to do anything at all to help.

She felt painfully invisible much of the time, and knew that if she was ever in need of emergency medical care that it wasn't likely that anyone would so much as ring for an ambulance.

Yet this stranger had not only bought her a decent lunch, but was sticking around to talk to her like an actual human being.

"You poor thing." The woman clicked her tongue sympathetically. "I've been where you are now, I know it ain't easy." Her accent was a mixed one, with notes of Irish and German coming through.

"Are you staying at one of the shelters, sweetheart?" She asked kindly, giving a couple a dirty look as they stared at Harry's dirty form. "What are you looking at?" The woman demanded of them, becoming offended by the shameless display of utter rudeness.

The couple huffed and hurried along.

"Some people!" She grumbled angrily with a shake of her head. "I'm Marion, what might I call you?"

Harry gave a small smile. She was liking Marion. "Harry." She answered, tucking her messy hair behind her ears and feeling a mess.

Marion's eyes widened. "Harry?" She asked with a hint of confusion, not sure what to think of a female with such a masculine name. "Hm. I used to know a lady that went by Charlie back at university, nice girl. Married a Russian bloke by the name of Sascha." She gave a small shrug and a gentle laugh, thinking it amusing the way that had turned out.

"Now, if you aren't staying at a shelter I highly recommend that you try to find one that will take you in." Marion advised a little more seriously, her brows coming together. "It can be hard to find one with a vacancy, but it's worth it. They can help you get back up to snuff, get you talking to people that can work with you to find housing, a job, whatever you need."

Marion smiled.

"You can use my mobile if you like, see where there might be a spot for you." She offered kindly, as Harry eyed the lunch she'd been passed.

Marion hadn't been so fortunate as to have anyone help her as she was trying to help Harry.

She had started making knick-knacks from bits and pieces of rubbish that she would find, and she would sell them.

People began to buy them, and after some months, Marion had been able to talk a man into letting her have a tiny flat for the month with the money that she had saved up.

From there, she had found herself a job before her month was over, and had been able to stay off the streets since. 

"Oh, my, aren't I rude? Never mind about the phone calls for now, not that you have to make them if you don't want to." Marion told her with a wave of her hand. "You go right ahead and eat."

Harry couldn't wait any longer. She hadn't wanted to be rude, and so had waited patiently.

She hastily opened the bag, stuffing a few of the now cold chips into her mouth. 

Harry hadn't eaten in three days, and was nearly sick with hunger.

The chips tasted so marvelously good.

The sandwich was even better, and Harry was incredibly grateful for the meal.

The food didn't last long, however, and her stomach still felt empty.

"I'll bet you feel a bit better now." Marion stated, glad that the entire meal had been eaten. "Are you still hungry?"

Harry lied and said no. She already felt guilty for taking what she had, she couldn't admit that she could have easily eaten another sandwich and another portion of chips.

"Good." Marion said. "Let's try and keep it that way. Now, would you like to borrow my phone?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, please." She answered, and Marion passed it to her.

It was a smartphone, and Harry had never used one before. 

She frowned at it in distaste, not liking the touch screen at all. It was too... Well, just what it was, Harry didn't like it. What had been so wrong with regular old telephones, Harry didn't know.

Marion seemed to understand and offered to find and dial the numbers for her.

Harry gladly accepted.

After a few tries at different shelters, Harry had found one across town that had an opening.

The woman on the other end of the line had been respectful and very helpful.

After learning Harry's situation, the lady had made an exception and promised to hold the room for the next couple of hours until Harry could come in to sign the papers.  
Harry passed the mobile back to Marion, feeling strangely hopeful for the first time in so very long. 

She had tried to get in at shelters before, but they had always been at full capacity. After a while, Harry had simply stopped trying and resigned herself to the streets.  
Marion was quiet, appreciating what Harry must have been experiencing.

"I... " She began, words failing her. "I got in."

Marion patted Harry's arm. "There you go, things can only get better from here, eh?" She said encouragingly. "Now, that one's quite far. Too far to walk."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out some loose change, offering enough to Harry for the tube.

Harry bit her lip as she looked at the coins.

"You've already done so much for me, I can't." Harry told her, appreciative of Marion's outright kindness.

"Sure you can!" Marion replied warmly. "You can always pay me back when you're able, if you like. Here, I'll write my number down for you."  
She took some paper and a pen from her purse and scribbled down her contact information.

"Maybe we could stay in touch. I'd love to hear how things go for you." Marion told her honestly.

She really was rooting for Harry.

With all of the misery about, Marion had always striven to make a positive impact on the world around her. And, Harry was in real need of some love and kindness, which Marion was more than happy to give.

Marion passed the paper and the coins to Harry, who was tearing up again.

"Just take care of yourself, all right?" She told Harry earnestly. "It can be tempting to give up, but you deserve better than that."

Marion glanced at her watch, not having realised how late she was for her appointment. "Oh, my goodness! I have to get going, I'm sorry... Call me, all right?" Marion said, getting up from the ground and brushing her skirt off.

She smiled once more at Harry, her eyes sad, before giving a little wave and departing.

Harry was still stunned at what had just transpired and just sat there for a short while longer.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry had found her way to the women's shelter with a bit of help from the tube driver, who had grudgingly assisted her.

It was a large building, which was not only a shelter but a community support location as well.

Harry went inside, noting how clean it was. The smell was similar to that of a hospital, which she didn't like.

A ginger-haired lady looked up at her non-judgmentally. "How may I help you?" She asked in a bored sort of tone.

The name plate on the counter indicated that her name was Isobel.

"Er, I had called earlier. I was told that there was a vacancy?" She said, feeling awkward.

"Ah, you'll be wanting the shelter." Isobel replied, pointing behind her. "The lift is just over there, you'll find what you're looking for on the second floor."

Harry thanked her, and went on.

 

The second floor was more plain than the lobby, not that it was shabby. More that it was frugally maintained.

Harry walked up to the small wooden desk where a teenager with dark skin and freckles greeted her cheerily.

Harry explained that a room was being held for her, and the girl nodded.

"Gotcha. I'll just go get Ellie, won't be a sec." The girl got up, took a right turn directly beside the desk, and knocked on a metal door which opened a moment later. "There's a lady who says that there's a room held for her."

An older woman of fifty-six came out to see Harry.

"You must be Harry. I'm Ellie, we spoke on the phone." She offered her hand, and Harry shook it. "There's just some paperwork I need you to fill out, and then I'll show you to your room."

Ellie opened a drawer in the desk and took out a small sheaf of papers, sitting down and gesturing for Harry to take a seat.

She asked a number of questions, slowly going through each page. The process took a good ten minutes to complete.

Ellie read over each paper, making sure that everything was in order.

"Right, I think we're nearly set. I'll just need your autograph down here at the bottom, please." She slid the paper and a pen across the desk for Harry.

As she signed the paper, Ellie retrieved a key from the silver lock box on the wall.

"Perfect." She said, trading the papers for the key and getting up. "Now, if you'll just follow me we can get you settled."

 

It was a small room, but it was well laid out; there were cupboards and shelves, a sink and a fair sized counter top, a mirror, and a mini fridge.

Food was provided, as were towels and personal hygiene items.

Harry had especially appreciated the pads. Getting such things when homeless could be a real task indeed. She had gone a long time without them, and so it was a luxury having some.

The makeshift pads she'd made do with hadn't been all that comfortable or clean.

 

The first thing that Harry did was take a long shower.

The warm water sluicing over her skin, the creamy lather of the soap, and the steam from the shower were absolutely wonderful.

She had become accustomed to being filthy, and being clean was a welcome change.

Ellie had managed to find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that fit her, letting her know that there was a donation bin in the recreation area that she could check for other clothing.

After getting clean and changing into her new outfit, Harry went into the shared kitchen.

The fridge and pantry were stocked.

Harry felt overwhelmed. There was so much food, and she could eat anything there that she liked.

She took some grapes and carrots, relishing the fresh produce as she sat at the table to eat.

When she was done, Harry headed to her room and lay down on the twin-sized bed.

Clean, full, and feeling safe, Harry found herself easily falling asleep.

 

The next few days went quite well; Harry had been able to acquire some jeans and a few shirts, had met some of the other ladies that were staying there, and had been assigned a social worker.

One of the ladies she'd met had asked her about herself, where she was from and whether she had any family in the city.

This had made Harry think about trying to track her parents and brother down.

She didn't know if there would be any point, but after going over it more than a few times, she had decided to at least try and find a way to contact John.

Using the computer in the recreation room, Harry did a quick internet search for John Watson.

Her brother's name was more common that she'd realised and numerous results for different men that shared the moniker popped up.

Harry revised her search, adding in John's middle name of Hamish to her query.

To her surprise, John's personal blog and a couple of news articles came up at the top of the results this time that were relevant.

Harry checked it out, and learned that her brother appeared to be some sort of assistant to a self-styled 'consulting detective'.

 

The last she'd heard, John was over in Afghanistan serving as an army doctor.

Harry was glad that he was alive and well.

She read on, finding out that the pair lived in Baker Street.

John's number seemed to be unlisted, though a quick search brought up Mr. Sherlock Holmes'.

Harry wanted to make the call and try to get John's information, but something held her back.

What if John didn't want to see her? What if he, like their parents, had given up on her, too?

It had been ten years. They probably thought her dead by now...

Still, she jotted the number down, in case she wanted to try it later.

 

Over the next week, Harry had gotten medication for her mental disorders, had someone working with her to find her own place, and had received a payment from her worker.

With some of the money, Harry bought herself a brand-new pair of sneakers.

She had still been struggling with the decision of whether or not she ought to try contacting her family.

Torn, Harry had brought the issue up with Kizzy, a girl two years younger than herself with whom she had hit it off.

They were sitting in the recreation room as three other women watched a boxing match on the telly.

"I mean, I do miss them." Harry admitted, before correcting herself. "Well, I miss my brother. Mum and Dad... Well, we never were on very good terms, even when things were okay."

Kizzy fiddled with her long blonde ponytail. "But, you and your brother were cool, right?" She asked as one of the girls watching the match let out a triumphant cry. "Got along and all that?"

"Towards the end." Harry answered, regretting how awfully she had treated him in the past.

"Then, go for it." Kizzy told her with a shrug. "You've got nothing to lose."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right." 

Kizzy scoffed. "Well, of course I am. That's why people come to me for advice."

"Oh, please! You can't help going about and sprinkling people with your advice and nuggets of golden wisdom." Harry pointed out with a laugh, her tone still friendly.

She crossed her legs, getting more comfortable. 

"I'm still right." Kizzy said, raising her chin a little and maintaining her point. 

It was then that two of Kizzy's six-year-old identical triplets came up to her in a hurry, looking very frightened.

Kizzy focused all of her attention on them, attempting to discern what was wrong.

"Josie's hurt." The only boy told her, his eyes wide.

"Show me." Kizzy demanded, and the children dashed ahead of her to guide the way.

 

Out of concern, Harry had followed behind.

On the bathroom floor beside one of the toilets, Josie lay in a n unconscious crumpled heap.

There was blood in the toilet and a trace of it on the young girl's mouth.

Kizzy crossed herself subconsciously and quickly checked for vital signs as Harry dashed off to get help, Josie's siblings staring in horror.

The child had been rushed to the hospital by ambulance, and Harry had volunteered to watch over the other two while Kizzy was watching over her sick little girl.

Chester and Alice were their names, and Harry adored them; she'd become a sort of temporary aunt to the trio.

 

The kids were silent and still as they sat on their beds, the sight of their unwell sister permeating their minds like a hot knife through butter.

"Come on, let's go for a walk." Harry suggested gently, an idea forming. 

Chester and Alice looked at her bleakly, feeling a bit numb and not understanding what had happened to Josie.

She gave them a reassuring smile and got them off the bed, helping them get ready, and then she took them for hot dogs and ice cream.


	5. Chapter 5

That evening, Kizzy had phoned Harry at the courtesy phone provided at the shelter to clients.

Harry felt terrible as Kizzy explained that the doctors weren't sure what was wrong, but that her daughter was in the ICU and in a coma. 

The only thing that could be done was to wait, hoping and praying that Josie would survive.

Harry could hear Kizzy's choked tears in the silence. "Is there anything that I can do, Kiz?" She asked, feeling useless.

"You're already doing it." Came the exhausted reply.

Harry had thought as much.

"Well, you don't have to worry about Alice and Chester. I think they're going to be fine." She had said, telling Kizzy about the treat she'd taken them for and how they'd even  
been able to play at the park they'd gone to.

"They went to bed on time?" Kizzy asked, knowing that Harry could be trusted to take good care of her kids, but needing to keep talking.

The moment that everything was quiet again, she knew that thick dread would envelop her again.

Harry had assured her that they had, and were in good hands.

And, then, there was suddenly very little left to say.

"Try to get some rest, okay?" Harry encouraged, her brows knit together in worry.

It was amazing how quickly they had become friends, and the pair were becoming closer by the day.

"Uh-huh." Kizzy said, doubting that she'd be able to get any at all. "Night."

"Good-night." Harry told her, and with that the call ended.

 

Harry stared at the scrap of paper with Sherlock's number written upon it, deciding to follow Kizzy's advice.

She slowly dialled the number on the keypad, blowing out a breath and mentally preparing herself for what might follow.

There were exactly two rings before a deep male voice answered the phone.

It was rather a wonderful voice with it's rich, sultry tones and inflection.

Harry thought that it definitely suited the image she'd seen in the online news article.

"Er, um, yeah, I'm trying to get ahold of John Watson." She had managed to say, wishing that she'd given some serious thought as to a sort of script she could have followed.

Phone calls were always so stressful.

"And, why would I give you his contact number?" Sherlock queried, listening for bits of information hidden in her voice that would relay to him just who she was and reveal her  
motives.

He was quite protective of John, and had proven this a number of times in different ways.

Harry hesitated momentarily. "Because, I'm his sister." She answered as her voice faltered slightly, trying to keep her nerve.

She fiddled with the curly blue phone cord, awaiting his response.

"Interesting." He murmured, knowing much of the siblings history from what little John had spoken about and what Sherlock had pieced together on his own.  
"What's interesting?" Harry heard in the background, the voice a bit muffled.

Harry could swear that was John's voice.

"So... May I have his number, please?" She requested a touch pleadingly. 

She was realising just how terribly much that she wanted to see John again, now that she was so close to getting back in contact.

Sherlock put his mobile on speaker, unbeknownst to her.

"That will hardly be necessary; John, speak to your sister." He said, and Harry could hear the sound of complete shock come from her brother.

"Wha- Harry?!" She heard him sputter, his voice a mixture of surprise, anger, and pain.

Harry began to panic, her instincts urging her to hang up right then.

It had all become too much, and Harry wasn't sure if she could do this after all.

"Sherlock, if you're screwing with me, I swear to God..." John half-growled, wondering what his flatmate was up to this time.

"John, it's me." Harry found herself saying, her voice breaking with the strain. "I- I'm sorry..."

There was only silence on his end.

"I shouldn't have just gone like that, but... Well, I had to." She tried to explain, wondering if he would forgive her. "I just had to."

She heard John scoff bitterly. 

"Look, why don't you come over and we'll talk face to face. I can't do this over the phone." John replied evenly, wanting to hear Harry's excuses if only to try and understand why she had abandoned her family like that.

"221 b Baker Street. Come any time tomorrow." John said, before hanging up without giving her a chance to say so much as a single word more.

He didn't want to give himself the opportunity to take the invitation back.

 

Harry blinked, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

She would have felt better if he had shouted at her, said nasty things in anger, anything but be so bloody level about it.

Harry couldn't tell if she felt any better for having actually spoken to her brother.

She had expected a bit of the weight she had been carrying to be lifted, and that hadn't happened at all. If anything, she felt even more weighed down now.

She let out a heavy sigh and put her hands to her face, giving herself a moment to just breathe.

Her face felt hot and Harry's vision began to blur with tears.

She was trying so hard to glue the pieces of her life back together...

After a few deep breaths and wiping away her tears, she headed back to Kizzy's room to stay with the kids.

 

The night had gone fairly well, with the exception of Alice's waking in the middle of the night due to a particularly vivid nightmare. Harry had told the girl to climb into bed with her, snuggling the child back into sleep.

In the morning, Harry had made sure that the kids ate a hearty breakfast, before seeing them onto the bus for school and then heading to a nearby mall.

She was readying herself for meeting her brother, feeling sure that the reunion wasn't going to be like in the films.

Something in the way John had spoken to her had given her chills; she had sensed the anger and bitterness in his tone, felt the resentment.

Harry shivered.

She was entirely to blame for her situation and knew it well; after being such a delinquent and then beginning to turn a new leaf before wholly disappearing from her family's lives was all on Harry.

And, blame herself she did.

 

Meanwhile at 221 b, John paced in the den whilst Sherlock tiredly watched him wander back and forth in a straight line.

It was beginning to annoy Sherlock quite a bit.

"Sit down, John." He tried with a mild frown, his tone gentle but commanding.

John glanced over to Sherlock as though he'd just been brought back to reality from a daydream of sorts.

"What? Oh." He muttered, still deep in thought and not really processing what Sherlock had said.

He had never known what had happened to Harry, and had been nearly convinced that she had committed suicide; what with the vague note that had a rather strong note of finality to it combined with her depression, it had been an easy assumption to jump to.

Now that he knew his sister was, in fact, alive, John found himself angry and hurt.

He'd been through the whole 'back from the dead' thing with a certain someone else, but that had been notably easier than this time. Which is not to say that the first time had been anything but difficult.

It had broken his heart when Sherlock had 'died', but when he had decided that Harry must have ended her life it had torn him to shreds.

Even if they had never been on amiable terms, he had still loved her as only a big brother could. Even if he had known that she must not have felt that same sibling bond as he had.

He went back to pacing.

After the call from Harry had ended last night, John had wanted to throw things and shout, to have a proper tantrum and let every last bit of his frustration out in complete destruction.

Not that he had, of course. Instead, he'd gone for a rather long brisk walk and then come home and made tea.

"John." Sherlock attempted for a second time to put a stop to his flatmate's exercise. "The carpet is quite thin enough without your working it over."

John flopped down onto the couch, looking cantankerous.

"You hardly believe there is any hope in the renewal of your sibling relationship, and besides that, last night's call has made you downright miserable. Why ever did you invite her?" Sherlock asked, not understanding. Relationships could be confusing for him.

"I don't know." John snapped, tossing his hands in the air emphatically. "I - Well, maybe I just want to know why."

Sherlock had a distinct feeling that the answer to that question wouldn't satisfy John.

That was the problem with people. They craved closure, yet they were rarely happy when they received it.

Not that saying this would help the situation.

He got up and went to the kitchen, making them each a cup of tea; earl grey for himself, and orange pekoe with a hint of a little something special to help ease John's edginess. 

That extra addition to John's tea was something that he would keep to himself, of course.

 

When he came back to the den, he found John looking even grumpier than before.

He passed the doctored cup of tea to John, then sat down with his own.

"Cheers." John told him, just the smell of the tea perking him up ever so slightly.

He tasted it.

The tea was vaguely sweeter than usual.

"How much sugar did you put?" He asked with a crinkle of his nose. John didn't like sweet tea.

Sherlock knew precisely how much sugar he liked in his tea and had never gotten it wrong before.

"One half teaspoon, as per usual." He answered tonelessly, crossing his long legs.

John tasted it again, giving a small shrug.

It was probably just him.

"Any biscuits left?" He asked, suddenly craving one of the oatmeal raisin ones he'd baked yesterday.

"No." Sherlock replied, having consumed the last two for breakfast.

John's oatmeal raisin biscuits being one of the few things that he would eat even if he wasn't hungry. They were that good.

John sighed and took a swallow of tea.

"What do you think I should do about Harry?" He asked, feeling unsure of what he wanted to come of this.

At first he had been certain that he merely had wanted answers, but now he began to wonder if there was any hope of a real relationship with Harry. At first he hadn't thought so, but maybe...

Sherlock considered John's question.

"With having only a very brief exchange with her and hearing the short conversation between the two of you, I don't have enough information to answer that, John." He said thoughtfully, steepling his hands beneath his chin in his customary fashion. "I can tell you, however, that despite popular belief, people are indeed capable of change; most are simply too weak to do so. The simple fact that Harry has reached out to you after ten years indicates that something has changed in her. Perhaps you'll find her worthy of your forgiveness. Perhaps not. There is only one way to find out."

John sighed, wishing that things with Harry could be simple for once.

He would have liked to get to know his sister, to finally be able to be close to her.

Family was greatly important to him, and the way things had been with Harry in the past had bothered him since he was young.

As he reached the bottom quarter of his cup of tea, he began to feel notably more relaxed.

Sherlock noticed this and was pleased.

John's frustrated antics would cease to be a problem now, and he would be feeling better as well, so for Sherlock this was a win-win.

John downed the rest of the tea and thanked him again. "I needed that." He had said, setting the cup on the coffee table and leaning back into the softness of the couch. 

 

As Harry sat in the food court, eating a cheap burrito, she decided to stop worrying about what might happen.

She would just do her best and whatever happened would happen. Or, at least she tried to convince herself of that.

She was letting her anxiety get the better of her, and she had been obsessively playing over possible scenarios in her mind. The stress had been eating away at her sanity.

Even after she had actively tried to keep from torturing herself in this way, her mind had kept wandering back to it.

No longer hungry, Harry wrapped the rest of her uneaten meal back up and stuffed it in the brown paper bag it had come in, and headed straight to the address that John had provided.


	6. Chapter 6

It was at 11:26 a.m. when the doorbell would have sounded at 221 b.

Due to the fact that it was broken and the repair man hadn't arrived to fix it yet, there had been no answer.

Harry tried twice more, though it was no use.

The corners of Harry's mouth twisted down unhappily, as her brows came together in aggravation an confusion. Why bother telling her to come and then ignore her like this? Was John punishing her?

Giving up, she turned away from the building and began descending the steps, when a voice called to her.

"Yoo hoo!" A feminine voice rang out in a sing-song tone.

Harry turned to look, unsure if it had been meant for her.

A small older woman smiled at her cheerily. "Sorry you've been waiting like this, only the bell's gone." She explained, pointing at it. "I've called to have it repaired, but you know   
how it is. Always so busy!"

Harry was encouraged inside.

The older lady looked at her scrutinisingly. "You're not Ms. Algreen's grandchild, are you?" She asked, thinking that she looked quite like the girl in her tenant and friend's photographs.

Harry shook her head no.

"I'm, uh, I'm looking for 221 b." She replied, not wanting to disclose whom she was meeting.

Mrs. Hudson nodded knowingly.

"You must be one of Sherlock's clients, then." She told her, sure that she was correct.

Harry merely gave a polite smile, as the other woman gave her unnecessary instructions on how to get the the right flat.

She nodded and thanked the woman, before walking away.

 

Harry stood before the door, staring at the metal numbers and letter on the door.

She felt weak in the knees and her palms were sweaty, her stomach was filled with energetic butterflies.

Harry was swiftly losing her bottle.

Taking a deep breath and slowly blowing it out, she knocked on the door three times.

It was promptly answered by the tall man from the news article.

"Do come in." He stated, opening the door wider and gesturing for her to enter.

She walked in, looking about at the quaint flat.

Harry especially liked the scientific equipment that was placed throughout. She'd always been keen on that sort of thing.

She glanced at the skull on the mantle and found that she rather liked it. A sort of macabre touch that she appreciated.

"John's indisposed for the moment, he'll be out to see you shortly." Sherlock explained, giving her the usual quick deductive once over.

Harry wasn't sure what to think of the brief visual tour he had taken of her body, but was polite enough not to mention it.

It was very quiet in the flat, and it made Harry a touch uncomfortable.

Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed quite content with it.

"Did you hear about the lunar eclipse that's supposed to happen tonight?" Harry asked, attempting to start a conversation.

"I've known about it for quite some time." He answered, not interested in small talk, which he deemed a waste of his precious time.

Harry nodded, feeling awkward as anything.

"So, do you plan on viewing it?" She tried, getting the impression that he didn't like her very much.

Sherlock walked over to the bookshelf and chose a small book bound in leather. "Yes." He answered simply, putting an end to the short communication.

Rather than meddle and make an effort to keep John from getting hurt by advising Harry to be careful what she did, Sherlock had decided to keep out of it altogether unless John had asked him for something. He had learnt from past mistakes to keep his nose out of his friend's personal business for the most part.

It was then that John entered the room.

He looked nearly startled at seeing her.

She looked quite different than the last time he'd seen her; she was far skinnier, her hair was long as opposed the the nearly shaved look that she used to opt for, and her face had changed with time.

He was used to the healthy, rambunctious Harry. The woman who stood before him was a complete stranger to him.

Harry pressed her lips into a thin line, feeling overwhelmed as a relentless whirlwind of emotion ripped through her.

"Harry?" He asked, wondering if perhaps this was a client rather than his long-lost sister.

"John Boy." She said in the exact same way that she used to way back when.

John swallowed.

"I thought you were dead." He said, his voice thick and deathly somber.

Harry had suspected as much.

"I wanted to come back so long ago. I just couldn't do it." She started, wishing that her words didn't sound so pathetic. "Things just got out of control, until I couldn't just come back as though nothing had happened." 

She wrung her hands, guilt stinging her.

"It's a very long story." She said, not wanting to get into it all that much.

"I've got the time." John replied, as Sherlock sat down.

"Would you mind?" John asked him promptingly and looking toward the hallway, and Sherlock grudgingly left to go and lie down in their bedroom.

Finally, something semi-interesting was happening, and he wasn't supposed to witness it.

John offered her a seat on the couch in the den, while he sat in Sherlock's chair.

His manner was a bit cold, however he was making an effort to be decent to her.

Harry had rehearsed what she could say countless times, and yet she was at a complete loss for words.

"It's hard for me to talk about..." She began, wishing that he would change his mind.

"Tell me or don't, it's up to you." He said, though his tone made it clear that if she said nothing about it that her chances were shot.

"I never told you, or mum and dad, but when I was working at the hardware shop, I had met someone." She went on, feeling that old wound begin to ache again as she purposely delved into old memories she preferred to keep locked away in a special little box in her mind. "Mark, his name was Mark. We ended up falling in love, and I was so happy. Everything was perfect; work was great, we had a nice flat, I was getting along with you and mum and dad..."

Harry paused, getting to the hard part.

"But, then, Mark passed away." Her voice cracked as she somehow managed the words, and John's expression changed to one of sympathy. Harry could only just barely bring herself to go into the full details and relive it again.

"I'm sorry." He told her, his voice gentle. John felt the pain she was exuding, and began to regret asking her to do this. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I didn't know..."

Harry blinked, feeling unable to stop there in her story.

"A few days after the funeral, I learnt that I was pregnant." Harry told him her biggest secret, the one that she regretted so very much. Only her doctor and a few select professionals had ever known this.

Hot tears stung her eyes, slipping down her cheeks as her heart broke a little more. She balled her hands into tight fists and went on even though it was hard to do.

"My life had become a nightmare, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't deal with it." She sniffed, a sob choking her words away.

Shame and regret washed over her as she began to feel as though she might be sick to her stomach.

"I had an abortion." Harry cried, her stomach clenching so tightly that it hurt badly. "I was such an idiot, I wasn't thinking clearly."

Harry was shaking now, silent but for the wracking sobs as she dissolved into her grief.

John got up and sat next to her, reaching over and cradling her in his arms as she cried.

He'd had no idea that Harry had been through so much hardship. He had expected some stupid excuse, but this was understandable. John had easily forgiven her upon learning the truth.

She leaned against him, trying to stop crying but not being able to.

The entire time, John held her protectively, until the tears would no longer come.

 

Harry had made herself ill with putting herself through all of that, and John had told her that she could stay until the next day if she liked.

Harry hadn't felt up to making the trip back to the shelter and had agreed.

She was permitted three nights away, and so far she hadn't used a single one.

Harry had called the shelter and explained the situation, arranging for Kizzy's children to be picked up and watched over until tomorrow.

The spare bedroom had been made up for her, and he'd even lent her a pair of his pyjamas.

It had been shortly after their heart-to-heart that Harry had gone to lie down.

Her stomach was in knots and she had vomited twice. Her entire body hurt, and her head positively ached.

Harry had fallen to sleep shortly after climbing into bed.


	7. Chapter 7

As his younger sister slept, John took in everything that he'd been told.

He sat there in the den, silently staring at a spot on the wall for so long that he saw nothing.

Even when Sherlock had come in from their bedroom, John hadn't stirred. That wasn't like him at all.

Sherlock could tell just how upset John was, how helpless he was feeling in his capabilities of helping Harry, how he was beating himself up for not looking harder for her.

John was in a terribly mixed state that was caustic to him.

And, if he was feeling this awful now, Sherlock had a pretty clear idea how he'd feel after the drug had worn off.

He sat down next to John, who still didn't notice him.

Sherlock, for all his intellect, did not know how to fix John this time.

This was a little too far into an arena he was unfamiliar with.

Naturally, his work didn't focus so much on these sorts of things, and he'd never had to deal with them personally, so Sherlock had very little experience.

Guesswork only got one so far in that variety of situation, and Sherlock didn't want to get on John's bad side. Again.

John always had become easily frustrated with Sherlock, even if he was quick enough try and make things right; he had a bit of a short temper, which had caused him some trouble in the past.

His biting sarcasm was quite often the precursor.

"She's fortunate to have a brother such as you, John." Sherlock tried, not knowing if John would respond or even hear him.

He meant it; despite the time between them and the rocky relationship of the past, John was still the devout older brother watching out for the younger sibling.

John's eyes focused a little as the words reached his ears, though he said not a word.

Sherlock noticed. Not much got past him.

He understood that there was a time and place for abject quiet, this being one of them.

It was easier for Sherlock when it was he that wasn't speaking. When it was others, it could become frustrating.

They sat there for quite some time, Sherlock's company bringing some comfort to John.

 

Around dinner time, Harry had awoken and come out of the bedroom to find John and Sherlock playing Operation at the table.

She had distracted John during the funny bone removal and the buzzer had gone off.

Sherlock cocked a brow. "And, you've actually performed surgery on live people." He teased. "Tsk, tsk."

Harry took a seat to watch the game.

"There's a pizza on the way, I hope you still like pepperoni and formaggio." John told her, as Sherlock successfully took his turn.

"I do, yeah." She said, before thinking about it. It had been years since she'd had it last. "At least, I think that I do."

Sherlock could read even more about her now that she was beginning to relax.

It was quite revealing. No wonder John pitied her.

As John took his turn, Sherlock decided it to be a good idea for Harry to stay.

It would alleviate John's guilt to a degree, strengthen their bond, and it would give the woman a (relatively) safe place to stay. Temporarily, of course.

He saw no point in keeping the notion to himself.

 

"She should move in with us." Sherlock said to John, not so much as bothering to lower his voice.

John's usually steady hand jumped and again the game's buzzer was heard.

"What?" He asked in a tone with an edge to it, making Harry feel unwanted.

Perhaps she ought to leave, if he wasn't comfortable with her being there. 

Sherlock patiently repeated himself word for word.

"You want to help Harry, she needs a place to stay. The solution is terribly obvious." Sherlock added, keeping the reasons that involved sentiment out of it.

"I'll be fine, there's no need for me to stay here." Harry told them, faking a smile. "In fact, I've got a lead on a couple of flats right now."

Sherlock's eyes darted to her own. "I can see through lies more easily than a clean window. There is very little point in attempting to mislead me." He warned her, and she shifted in her seat.

She cleared her throat.

"How much time do you have left at the shelter?" John asked her bluntly, knowing that Sherlock's proposal made sense.

"Eight days." She answered, feeling stressed. She had been searching and searching, and there had been no luck.

Nearly every landlord had wanted either her past five years rental history, or multiple good landlord references. Harry had neither. And, the ones that would have let that slide had given the place to someone else.

It was maddening.

Sherlock sat there watching John, knowing full well what the outcome would be.

"But, hey, I've always managed to scrape by." Harry told her brother, refusing to let their reunion become depressing. "No matter what happens, I'll deal with it. You don't need to feel obligated to do anything. Lord knows I don't deserve it."

She gave him a sad smile tinged with bitterness. "Now, I think it's your turn." Harry reminded him, gesturing to the game.

John closed his eyes. 

"I want you to stay." He admitted quickly, needing to settle this now. "For as long as you like. Please."

Harry blinked, taken aback.

He should have hated her, and yet here he was showing her nothing but care.

"And, don't you dare say that you don't deserve my help; you're human, humans make mistakes." He went on, his voice gruff as his head swirled with emotion. "As long as you're trying to do your best, then that's all that matters."

A tear slipped down Harry's cheek as her throat grew thick.

Sherlock seemed satisfied.

"Then, it's settled." He piped up, clasping his hands in his lap.

John frowned slightly, wondering why Sherlock seemed so content with this.

He didn't even like having company over for more than an a few hours, let alone an actual guest.

With the last (and thus far only) guest they'd entertained for a more significant amount of time, a certain silver-haired D.I., Sherlock had done little else but complain.

He didn't like sharing his space with much of anyone, save for John.

"You're sure? Both of you?" Harry wanted to make sure. "Because, I really don't want to be a bother."

John shook his head. "I'm sure you won't be a bother." He told her. "And, if you are, we'll talk then."

Harry looked to Sherlock, who'd not given a response.

"Ditto." He told her, wanting her to stop staring expectantly at him.

Harry licked her lower lip.

"Thank you. I mean it, thank you so much." She said quietly, feeling a bit dizzy.

It had been such a roller coaster of a day.

"Perhaps it would be best for you to return to your room." Sherlock suggested, seeing the beginning signs of a faint in her.

Harry nodded and left without a word, holding her head with one hand.

"Are you all right?" John asked, not receiving an answer.

"She's fine, only a touch overwhelmed." Sherlock explained, putting the game away.

 

That night, John had trouble getting to sleep.

The day's events kept playing through his mind, and he kept thinking about what Harry had experienced.

She had been so close to living happily ever after, or at least it had seemed that way, and he had nearly been an uncle...

And, as much as she'd told him, he hadn't told her his story yet.

For example, she had no idea that he and Sherlock were much more than simply a work team and flatmates; they were together. They were practically engaged.

 

When John couldn't fall to sleep, neither could Sherlock.

This was mainly due to the fact that John would huff and puff in frustration as he moved about, trying to get more comfortable in hopes of managing to find that one special position that would help ease him into dreamland.

"John, please." Sherlock half-pleaded, becoming aggravated with the entire bed being jostled as John tossed himself this way and that.

If the bed was to move, he would prefer the cause to be something else entirely.

"Sorry." John grumbled, turning to Sherlock.

"Lie on your back." Sherlock instructed him.

"Why?" John asked suspiciously, yawning.

"Because, I said so." Sherlock told him. "Now, go on."

John obliged.

"Good, now close your eyes." 

John did as he'd been instructed, choosing to trust Sherlock.

"Now, I want you to take a deep breath and hold it to the count of three, before slowly blowing it out." Sherlock instructed, closing his own eyes and wiggling into the bed a bit.

He told John to do this a few more times, before having his strategically relax his muscles beginning at his feet.

Sherlock effectively hypnotised John over the next hour and a half, leaving him snoring peacefully.

Fortunately, Sherlock could sleep through John's loud and rather hacksaw-like snores.


End file.
